


Kismet

by brightingales (zoeteniets)



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Christmas Carol Fusion, Canonical Character Death, Ensemble Cast, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, James Centric, M/M, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 16:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeteniets/pseuds/brightingales
Summary: Kismet (noun) meaning fate or destiny."James should feel bad for lashing out at Romeo - none of this is his fault, after all - but James is simply numb to all sentimental feelings now. Three decades of disappointment have hardened him against all attempts to imbue him with Christmas cheer. There is no possibility that James will be filled with goodwill towards all men, or that his heart will glow with love this Christmas. Any dream of finally feeling the joy so loudly proclaimed to the rest of the world year died long before the start of this particular winter’s tale. Christmas is, quite simply, the worst time of year."Or - James experiences his own Christmas carol.





	Kismet

Despite his reputation for being a bit of a Scrooge, James Nightingale has never once uttered the phrase ‘bah, humbug’.

He’s coming dangerously close to it now though.

Everyone around him seems to be exuding an obnoxious amount of Christmas cheer as if they’ve been put on this earth with the sole mission of irritating James into an early grave. The same tacky decorations as last year litter the village and on every corner there is a McQueen, cheeks red from too much mulled-wine, wearing Christmas clothing that is so garish it should be illegal.

“Merry Christmas!” Mercedes yells at him when he walks by her on the way to fetch some whisky to drown his sorrows in. “Or whatever holiday it is you celebrate in hell!”

He ignores her, naturally, but something in her words strikes a chord deep within him. The whole _James Nightingale is a demon_ shtick had been old long before he had ever even heard of the village of Hollyoaks. There had been plenty of running jokes at university about how all lawyers are soulless. In his typical fashion, James had run with the idea and cultivated an image of himself that was cool, calm, and compassionless. Not for James was the bleeding-heart liberal tone of student politics; Mr Nightingale worked only for his own self-interest.

Beyond uni, the façade became permanent. After all, in the den of wolves that is a courtroom, there is no possibility of showing weakness. And in his office, he is surrounded by people who took exactly the same path as him – the one that sharpened their teeth and poisoned their hands.

That’s why everything he touches turns to rot. It had happened to Harry as soon as he had placed his heart in James’s outstretched palm.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts as he walks past a brass band playing carols at the foot of the city walls. He must have heard _It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year_ at least twenty times already today but this version is particularly heinous to his hearing. The trombonist is out of tune and the little lad playing the trumpet is off tempo, ignoring the exasperated conductor who is waving his hands to the required beat specifically at him. James fishes a few pound coins out of his coat pocket and drops them into the charity bucket held by a schoolchild near the band, hoping that he’s given her enough that they’ll stop playing and go home. He turns his face away before the child can proclaim ‘Merry Christmas!’ to him.

Problem is, he’s not looking where he’s going, and so he quite literally runs into someone.

“James! I was looking for you!”

Oh no.

“You found me,” James grimaces as he realises that it’s his son who he has barged in to.

“Are you coming to Christmas dinner?”

“I wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” Romeo’s face falls as he realises that he might have just put his foot in it. “Well, I’m inviting you now.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather not. Playing happy families as we stuff ourselves with turkey and try to pretend that we don’t all hate each other – it’s not really my style.”

“And moping around being miserable while everyone else is off having fun is?” Romeo counters.

James turns his head to look at him fully and sees the hurt on his face. He feels a pang of guilt for lumping this young man, who he barely knows, in with all the family members he hates. But despite it being the season of goodwill, James is suddenly feeling less than charitable - he’s had enough of Romeo constantly changing his mind about him, refusing to give him the benefit of the doubt, and taking everyone else’s word over his own.

“Enjoy your Christmas, Romeo,” he replies with just a hint of sarcasm. “Remember to keep Marnie away from the whisky and Mac away from Marnie. Have fun trying to stop your sister from traumatising Alfie and remember to keep an eye on your mother lest someone has put her favourite kind of present under the tree. I’m sure you’re going to have a _wonderful_ time.”

He walks away before Romeo can reply, turning his collar up against the cold and any attempt by his son to call him back. He should feel bad for lashing out at Romeo - none of this is his fault, after all - but James is simply numb to all sentimental feelings now. Three decades of disappointment have hardened him against all attempts to imbue him with Christmas cheer. There is no possibility that James will be filled with goodwill towards all men, or that his heart will glow with love this Christmas. Any dream of finally feeling the joy so loudly proclaimed to the rest of the world year died long before the start of this particular winter’s tale.

Christmas is, quite simply, the worst time of year.

Whisky acquired, he goes back to his flat. In the time that its taken for him to cross the village, purchase the alcohol and make the journey back, a thick fog has descended across the water. The band has given up and gone home and, without their tuneless but cheerful music, the village seems to have taken on a gloomy air. The sight of the stone walls emerging from the mist reminds him of the gothic novels he devoured as a teenager, back when he was learning the new and exciting feelings of longing and lust. He remembers the edited collection of those same stories, currently hidden under his bed, wrapped in red paper, waiting for him to find the courage to give it to Romeo as he had stupidly planned to many weeks ago.

He was foolish to think that he could ever form a lasting relationship with the young man. Now, many weeks after his aborted attempt to get to know his son over drinks at The Dog, he is beginning to wonder why he even tried. Yes, his son might have just invited him to Christmas dinner, but James is sure that the invite has nothing to do with a genuine desire to have his company. Rather, it came from the same stupid sense of obligation that keeps families together for one day a year pretending that they don’t actually hate each other. It’s all nonsense and James wants no part of it.

The freezing fog has chilled James thoroughly – his demeanour now reflected in his body temperature. The cold has set into the walls of the flat as well and he turns up the dial on the thermostat in an attempt to liven the place up. If he had bothered to decorate, he could turn some Christmas lights to help lift his mood. But while last year he had made an attempt at erecting something that resembled decorations he hasn’t made the effort to look like he is joining in with the festivities this year. What’s the point when there’s no one in his life to celebrate with?

He flops down onto the sofa with his whisky and a wish to doze off as quickly as possible so that he won’t have to face any more of this dreadful day. He daren’t put on the television or the radio – even Classic FM has let him down today by consistently playing carols – and so there’s nothing to do but to let his mind wander as he searches for the path to sleep.  

Of course, all roads lead to the same place. The cold has set into his bones reminding him of another night not too long ago when the ice that settled within him proved impossible to shift. He remembers standing in the rain unsure if he would ever feel warm again. The smell of damp earth and rainwater. The touch of Harry’s desperate fingers around his neck…

Somewhere, far distant, a clock strikes twelve. James hadn’t even noticed the hours tick by, too busy sulking to notice passing them as he suffers through endless memories of that October night. The pattern of gaining a son and losing a lover repeating over and over again in a cycle that makes him feel motion sick.

Or perhaps it is just a bad bottle of whisky?

Whatever it is, he should go to bed. He heaves himself away from the pillows and shifts his feet under himself, taking a few moments to let the feelings of nausea and dizziness pass.

“You always were more of a lightweight than you claimed to be,” a voice says from somewhere close by.

The voice is familiar. He never thought he would hear it ever again in his whole life.

“I thought you were dead,” James says as takes in the figure of Nathan Nightingale currently sitting in James’s favourite armchair.

“I am,” Nathan replies with a rueful smile.

James has no trouble believing him. When he looks Nathan in the eye the familiar blue no trace of the cheeky twinkle that so often shone there. Instead, his irises are clouded with a milky film, rendering the colour of his eyes dead and lifeless. Just as Nathan should be.

And yet, despite the change to Nathan’s appearance making it impossible to escape the fact that the vision before him is ghost-like and ghoulish, underneath it all the figure is still recognisably his brother.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s midnight, on Christmas Eve, and you’re seeing ghosts,” Nathan replies. “Come on, James. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

The ghost of Nathan reaches out and touches his hand. The gesture would be a comfort if it had passed between two different people, but James and Nathan had never been close: James’s feelings of resentment towards Nathan that stemmed from Mac’s treatment of him – so different from how he treated James – had built an impenetrable barrier between the two of them that neither had ever had the energy or will to scale. Instead of feeling the warmth of fraternal affection, the touch between them is cold. Nathan’s fingers are freezing where they brush against his skin and James feels it all the way down to his bones. He glances down to his hand to make he’s not been covered in frost.

When he looks back up, he is no longer in his cosy but Christmas-free flat. Rather he is in a hallway decorated with an impossible number of boughs of holly. There is something about the smell of the place. Clove cigarettes, his mother’s perfume, and forest air. He’s forgotten the fine details of the layout of the place, but the scent of ‘home’ is hardwired into his brain. There are voices coming from the room off to the side, where Nathan gestures for him to go through.

“I can’t,” James tells him.

“You know how this goes,” Nathan tells him.

“You show me the past, I get a sense of perspective and wake up a better man in time for Christmas day. I’ve read the novel thousands of times.”

“Then you know that there is no avoiding this. You can’t keep shutting out the past. You need to face it.”

James scoffs. “You’re my dead brother, not my therapist.”

“No,” Nathan says, his trademark cheeky smile back on his face. “Your therapist can’t do this.”

Nathan places his hands onto James’s back and gives him one almighty shove. The whole world seems to shift and for a terrifying second, James thinks he’s going to go flying into the wall. But as he braces for impact, the bricks in front of him dissolve and he lands, quite gracefully, in the sitting room of the house he and Nathan grew up in.

The room is not quite as he remembers it; the walls are a different colour from the sage green that they were when he finally moved out. The three-piece sofa set has a distinctly nineties vibe about it and the curtains are made of chintzy fabric that had a, thankfully brief, moment of popularity over twenty years ago. A massive Christmas tree takes up the majority of space in the room and a little boy in green pyjamas sits cross-legged under it excitedly unwrapping presents.

“Christ, Marnie, what did you get him more books for?” Mac’s voice drifts through James’s mind as the memories of this particular Christmas floats through his head.

“It’s important to foster the boy’s interests, however diverse they are,” his mother replies in her usually haughty tone. Beside her, the miniature James puts another book on an already extensive pile. James can’t remember what all the titles were but he knows that the pile contains books on Ancient Greek history, Chemistry, Politics as well as novels from a range of centuries. “Besides, these ones aren’t from me; they’re from his uncle and cousins.”

“No, of course. You got him that ridiculous outfit” Mac sneers.

Ah yes, James remembers.

“It’s a suit and he needs it for cousin Tilly’s wedding in February. Besides, he’ll look wonderful in it. Won’t you, darling?” She runs a hand through little James’s hair, a gesture that James felt so often that the touch is embedded deep within his muscle memory.   

Little James looks up at her but then goes straight back to his books, eyes wide and hungry for knowledge, picking them up and putting them back, as if he can’t decide which one to devour first. Mac’s presents – a pair of rugby shoes and a ball – lay discarded and forgotten in a corner of the room.

“James, darling,” Marine calls his attention back, “I have one more present to give you.”

James watches as his younger self turns to her expectantly.

“There’s going to be a big change in this house soon,” Marnie begins cautiously. “You see, you’re going to have a little brother or sister soon. Isn’t that exciting?”

“I remember this,” he tells Ghost Nathan. “I had wanted a sibling for so long. I thought that if I had a little brother or sister it would be just the two of us against the world – that I would always have someone on my side. When mum told me, I was thrilled.”

The little James’s entire face lights up with joy. He clasps his hands together and looks as if he is about to erupt into excited shouting and clapping. But already, he has learnt to contain himself. James watches on sadly as his younger self schools himself back into the quiet and well-behaved boy he had been trained to be.

“I promised I would be the best big brother in the world,” James tells Nathan, who looks sombre as he watches his impending birth be announced. “I had so many plans for all the things that we would learn and see and do together. It was my biggest wish that we would be best friends. And I swore that I would never let you down. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep that promise.”

“I’m sorry too.”

This time when Nathan’s hand touches his James expects the cold sensation but his stomach still unexpectedly lurches as the scene swirls and changes before them.

The sitting room they land in is the same, but the colours and fabrics have changed. The little James has grown into a lanky teenager and he towers over the very small Nathan who sits with him as James patiently shows him all the pieces of his new chess set and tries to explain how each of the figures can move.

“Can you remember what this piece is, Nathan?”

“A Knight!”

“And where can it move on the board?”

Small Nathan sticks his fingers in his mouth as he tries to remember while ghost Nathan moves around the room studying the younger version of himself intently.

“I wanted to impress you so badly,” he says. “My big clever brother. I could never believe it when you wanted to spend time with me. You must have thought I was so slow and stupid.”

“You were six,” James replies quietly. The younger James huffs irritably and takes up the figure of the Knight to show his little brother where the piece can move on the board. “I should have been more patient with you.”

“No, you were great…” Nathan begins but both of their attention is drawn to a great clattering in the kitchen. Little Ellie comes rushing through followed by a comically growling and snarling Mac.

“Come on boys,” Mac gasps as he catches his breath. “Ellie and I are playing princesses and dragons in the garden.”

“I’ll save you Ellie!” cries Nathan, scampering off in the direction that Ellie fled towards.

Mac spares a moment to laugh at his enthusiasm before turning to James.

“Are you going to come and play with your siblings?”

“That’s what I _was_ doing,” James replies churlishly.

“Yes, I’m sure Nathan was really enjoying listening to you lecture him,” James blushes at that. “Come on, we’ll get the football out and have a proper game.”

“No, thank you. I have homework.”

“It’s Christmas!” Mac is on the verge of shouting. “James, you will stop sulking and take part.”

The older James watches the conflict war across his younger self’s face. The young James is obviously petrified of Mac and what will happen if he disobeys but he really did have homework he wanted to do that Christmas – an extra credit module at school that his form tutor had said would be a good idea for him to work on if he wanted to apply to Oxbridge in a few years’ time. He knew his teachers wanted him to try, but he was sure that Mac would object. He had refused to send James to private school despite him winning a scholarship all those years ago; there’s no way he’d let him go away to uni.

Ghost Nathan can clearly read his thoughts, “You did go to uni though. And you never looked back. My amazing older brother who couldn’t wait to leave.”

“You know why,” James says.

“I do _now_. But I didn’t then. I spent so long hating you for abandoning us. For wanting nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then why didn’t you call?  Why didn’t you write? Why didn’t you make any sort of effort to stay in contact?”

The words stick in James’s throat. “I was… I was…”

The scene around them changes as James struggles to admit the truth. The walls shrink and close in, the pleasant green on the walls fades to a dirty off-white, and the massive Christmas tree loses its branches and decorations until only a small, scraggly thing sparsely hung with cheap plastic decorations is left. Around them, there is a cacophonous noise as dozens of drunk and cheerful students materialise out of thin air. And in the corner, James Nightingale – in the first blossom of his early twenties – hiding a wry smile in a can of Heineken.    

“Christmas at Felix’s.” The memory is like a breath of fresh air in James’s head. “I got so drunk at his party during Freshers Week. I was amazed he ever invited me back.”

James watches as a group of students carouse in the kitchen. “That punch is lethal,” James tells Nathan as they pass glasses of the stuff between them. “I’ve no idea what he put in it.”

Nathan leans over and sniffs a glass. “Hmm. Whisky, Cointreau… bit of absinthe. It’s a wonder you didn’t all die of alcohol poisoning.”

They move through the house, jostling students who remain unaware of their presence as James takes in the memory of it all. The faces he once knew, the music he once heard at every party, the names of people long forgotten.

“James! You came!” a voice shouts, elatedly, from the hallway.

Both the younger and older James tun with the same overjoyed expression on their faces as they realise who has arrived.

“Charlie,” the two of them sigh as a blonde-haired and blue-eyed young man bounds into the living room.

“Who is he?” asks Nathan. The older James is so enraptured by watching his former self that it takes him a moment to answer.

“Charlie was…” James trails off as he watches the young man greet his friends. There’s lots of laughing and back slapping going on as he pulls his friends in for warm hugs. Charlie smiles at everyone he sees, wishes them all a Happy Christmas, and leaves a trail of warm feelings in his wake as he moves through the crowd towards the place where James and Nathan are observing.  

“He was the year ahead of me,” James explains. “President of the Law faculty’s drama club. The most popular student in the class. Always had the best seat in the library. Attended all the guest speaker events and sat on the student union’s committees. And he was so…” James loses his breath as he watches Charlie place a kiss on his younger self’s cheek.

“You had a crush on him,” Nathan says.

“I must have looked completely pathetic,” James concedes. “I was always following him around like some lovesick puppy. Trying to copy everything he did so that I could be just like him. But he was always wonderful to me. He never made me feel embarrassed or ashamed of my feelings for him. He accepted me, just as I was. It was the first time I ever felt like I belonged somewhere – when I was with him.”

Charlie leans over and whispers something in young James’s ear.   

“You were lovers?” Nathan asks.

“I couldn’t believe how lucky I was,” James confesses. “Charlie was so handsome, he could have had anyone on campus, but he chose me.”

“If you liked him so much, why didn’t you work out?”

Young James and Charlie make their way through the throng of students towards the door, Charlie’s hand grasping James’s as if he is worried about losing him. As they head through the front door Charlie suddenly looks up. A generous bunch of mistletoe hangs above the doorway. He points it out to the younger James, who blushes furiously at the suggestion.

Charlie kisses him anyway.

“I went to stay with him that Christmas. Seeing him with his family was incredible. They were so open and loving. I was jealous that he had grown up in an environment that was so different to my own. But we all have our crosses to bear.” James sighs, sadly. “Charlie was brilliant, and we had lots of fun together. But he was in love with a friend from home. He thought it was a lost cause; the old ‘in love with my straight best friend’ trope. In third year, the friend finally got with the programme and figured out that bisexuality is a thing. Last I heard he and Charlie are married and have two kids.”

“That must have sucked for you, though.”

“It didn’t,” James replies surprised at the honesty of his words. “I liked Charlie a lot, but he was just a fantasy really. I saw him as this perfect, untouchable thing and he was happy to play that part for a while. But we both needed something a bit different from what we were able to offer each other.”

“I wish my first break up was that amicable,” Nathan says his clouded eyes drifting to the landing where a couple are having a furiously whispered argument.

James chuckles. “I figured the universe owed me a happy ending to at least one part of my life.”

Nathan and James have followed the spectre of young James out into the street but instead of appearing on Felix’s road they have instead stepped back into Hollyoaks – the same tacky decorations as ever strewn upon the lampposts. A fine drizzle of snow dances in the orange light, but James doesn’t feel the cold.

“So, that’s why you never came home…?”

“I wasn’t always with a lover. Sometimes it was friends. I went to Grandma Tabby’s a few times. And the Christmas after I graduated, I was travelling. After mum and dad split, it was easier to stay away. I couldn’t go back to Mac.”

“But you couldn’t come back for me, Ellie and Alfie?” Nathan sounds hurt. “Didn’t you ever wonder if we suffered the same as you.”

“Of course I did! I worried about it constantly,” James exclaims. “But you don’t know what it was like. You couldn’t see the way he was with me. How differently he treated you. Honestly, when Mac was with you three, he was a totally changed person. Even I could almost believe the lie he told - that he was a good father and honourable person. I should have done more to look out for you, but someone had to look out for me too and no one was going to do it in that house!”

Nathan looks appalled. It’s the first time that James has ever been so open about his feelings with him. The guilt of the words crashes over James in waves. How could he expect his little brother to shoulder any responsibility for this?

“God, Nathan. I’m so sorry. None of this is your fault.”

“No, but none of it is yours either.”

They stop in front of The Dog. Morbidly, both of their eyes drift up to the point from which Nathan fell.

“So, what’s the secret then?” James asks.

“Pardon?”

“What lessons am I supposed to have learnt to help me become a better person? That’s why you’re here right?”

“I’m doing a pretty poor job of it if you can’t figure it out for yourself,” Nathan jokes.

“I’m sorry,” James says, the words escaping his mouth before he can really think about them. “I’m sorry I abandoned you. I’m sorry I was a terrible brother to you. I should have been better, done better by you.”

Nathan reaches out to him. This time, when they touch, Nathan’s hands are no longer cold. As Nathan wraps his arms around James and pulls him in for a hug his body is as warm and soft as if he were still alive.

“It’s ok, James. I forgive you,” Nathan whispers into his ear. “I just hope one day you can forgive me too.”

James pulls away at that. “I don’t know what you mean. There’s nothing to forgive.”

Something passes between them, an understanding of a sort – not that James would be able to explain it if anyone else asked him. One moment he is looking into Nathan’s misted blue eyes and the next the colours and shapes that make up Nathan seem to fade and dissolve. James blinks, and when he opens his eyes, his brother is gone.

In the distance, a clock strikes one.

At the very edge of his vision, James sees the lights in The Hutch switch on. He hesitates, unsure of what new horrors could await him. But he quickly realises that he is at a loss for anything better to do with himself. James accepts the implicit invitation and enters the restaurant.

The first thing that he notices is that all the furniture has been pushed together so that there is one long, wide, banqueting table in the centre of the room. Indeed, a banquet is laid out upon it. There is an enormous turkey, mounds upon mounds of roast potatoes, several trays of gleaming vegetables, and one central mountain of Brussel sprouts.

There is light everywhere. It shines from candles placed around the tables, reflecting in the plentiful glasses of wine scattered around and off the ruddy cheeks of the villagers gathered at the table. Everyone is there. The McQueens, the Lovedays, the Osbournes. Even James’s own family sit around the table, passing plates of mince pies along to each other and behaving as if the strange scene they have all found themselves part of is completely normal. It seems as if they have all agreed to get together in order to pose for the perfect Hollyoaks Christmas card. Everyone is in loud Christmas jumpers and paper crowns. People who James knows for a fact would not stop to give each other the time of day smile and joke with each other as they share out bottles of wine. The Hutch has more life and more joy in it than James has ever seen in all his years in the village.

Only one thing, or rather, one person is out of place.

“James Nightingale,” says Tegan Lomax from her family’s section of the table. “You’re late.”

“I’ve, erm,” James stutters, surprised that she is addressing him. “I’ve had a long journey.”

“Pull up a chair then!” She gestures to an empty space between her and Ste Hay.

James demurs, “I don’t think that’s wise, do you?”

“They can’t see us,” Tegan points out. “Get over yourself and sit down.”

James obeys, unwilling to find out what would happen if he refused. Still, he gives Ste a wide berth, just in case. As he settles himself down he takes a moment to take in her appearance. While there had been something distinctly ghost-like about the apparition of his brother, Tegan is still as bright and bubbly as James remembers her. For once her taste in garish clothing helps her blend in and her dark hair shines in the candle glow. Something catches her attention and she turns to laugh at whatever joke someone around the table has just told although the others around the table do not turn and laugh with her. James notices that the plate in front of her is piled high with Christmas food, but while everyone around her seems to have been tucking in with gusto, her food has not been touched. It’s an uncomfortable reminder that while she may be acting as if everything is normal, she is not truly of this world.

“What’s going on?” James asks her.

“Christmas dinner, obviously.”

“Yes, I can see that. But why? And don’t say because it’s Christmas – that bit I’ve worked out already, thank you.”

“Look at what’s happening around us. People that hold grudges against each other for the whole year have come together and put aside their differences.” She picks up the fork from her plate and uses it to gesture to the far end of the table. The Brussel sprout stuck to the end of the utensil shines verdant green as a thick dollop of gravy drips from it and lands on the scarlet tablecloth.

“Liam and Grace have had a rough year, considering that he thought she had murdered his father. But here they are, sharing the cranberry sauce and enjoying each other’s company.” She twirls the fork again and points to the side of the table where crackers are being pulled and jokes read out in a competition to see who has received the most cringe-worthy pun.

“Sienna Blake had the worst Christmas of her life last year, and now look at her - surrounded by more friends than she ever thought she would have, finally feeling like she is part of something bigger than herself. Even over here,” she turns the fork in another direction causing another glob of gravy to fly from it and land with a splat on James’s hand. “The Osbournes, whose lives have been turned upside down, are grateful for this time together. And even though the coming year has some awful things in store for the Lovedays, they’re taking the time now to enjoy themselves while they are still carefree and untroubled.”

“This might be your worst nightmare,” Tegan explains, “but for me, this was my last wish. One more Christmas with my family and friends. One more perfect day of presents and food and family. One more memory for me to hold onto and for them to share. I guess you wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m sorry,” James feels compelled to say. He might not be able to understand her attachment to the holiday or why someone would spend their last moments wishing for this, but he can at least sympathise with her desire to have more time with her loved ones. If someone offered him one more night together with Harry before it all went to hell, he would take their offer with both hands.

She smiles at him – a soft, sad, little thing. “It’s not your fault I’m dead,” she says. “But your actions did mean that my last month of life was spent worrying that my daughter hated me.”

“Yes,” James concedes. “I did an awful thing.”

“I know you think you had your reasons…”

James casts his gaze around the table as she talks now that his gaze is not being directed by her Brussel sprout baton. The McQueens look like they are about to start a food fight as they pass the potatoes between them. The children weave in and out of the chair legs running off their sweet-fuelled energy and James automatically lifts his feet out of the way despite the fact that he knows that they cannot see or touch him. Everyone is smiling and relaxed – even Ste’s usually sour expression has been sweetened with Christmas cheer. In this picture-perfect scene, there is nothing and no one out of place. Except, James notices, for the empty chair beside Tony.

The man Harry calls his father seems not to have noticed the conspicuous absence beside him. He’s too busy laughing with his wife to even spare a glance at the empty space. It feels awfully familiar; the sight of Tony pretending everything is fine while Harry is nowhere to be found. He’ll never be able to understand Harry’s devotion to the man – his need to win his respect and approval – when Harry himself is so above him in every way. He is kinder, stronger, nobler…

“… But Rose and I, my family and all their suffering, were just collateral damage in your drama with Harry.”

“Where is he?” James asks, suddenly realising who it is that is missing from the table. “Where is Harry?”

Tegan ignores him. “If you had just kept yourself to yourself. If you hadn’t sought out the passion and danger with Harry. If you had done the right thing from the beginning and sent him back to Ste the moment he turned up at your door, none of this would have happened.”

“I’m sorry,” James says again, but he’s not really concentrating on her any more. Harry’s absence fills him with dread. He has the inescapable feeling that something has gone awfully wrong.

As if to reflect his darkening mood the lights around the table dim. The voices of the gathered villagers, who have been telling jokes and stories all the while, begin to grow quiet and distant.

“You miss him,” Tegan observes. “Well, I miss my family! Why should you get your happy ending when all I got was death?”

He turns back to her and notices the touch of death all over her now. Her eyes are filled with the same milky cloud as Nathan’s, the bright and neon colours of her clothes have faded, and her skin has taken on the same greyish tinge as his long-dead brother’s. So has the room around them – the candles are all but out and all of the villagers have vanished. The Hutch, which was so full of light and life only seconds ago, is now as dark and silent as the grave.  

“And now, I have to leave them. But I’m not ready! I just want one more Christmas, James!”

“I’m sorry,” he says for what feels like the millionth time. He really does mean it now. He may not have known her very well, but he truly is sorry for her suffering and any part he played in it.

“I know,” she tells him. And though she still looks utterly furious at him, he can tell the words are sincere. “I forgive you. I just wish you would forgive yourself enough to let yourself enjoy this!”

“I can’t, not until I know where Harry is.” The confession is unexpected. The sense of dread that first washed over him is now a pulsing, living thing within him. Telling her that he is worried, that not having Harry with him is what means he can’t enjoy Christmas, helps relieve the pressure on his insides a little. But now that he has asked once he cannot stop until he has his answer.

“Oh! So _now_ you’re worried about him? Why has it taken you this long? Why didn’t you worry when he first disappeared? Why have you gone weeks, months, without trying to find him?”

“I was hurt!” James admits. “I was selfish. All I cared about was my own pain. But I was wrong to shut him out; I know that now. Please, just tell me that he’s safe. That he’s okay!”

“I can’t,” she replies. James genuinely believes the regret in her voice. “It’s not for me to say.”

“No. That’s my job,” a low voice interrupts.

James looks across the table where one shadowy figure remains. He hadn’t noticed that there was anyone left in the gloom of the room. But there he sits, the very last person James ever wants to see.

Mac Nightingale appears to be enjoying his son’s desperation. A nasty smile blooms across his face as James turns back and realises that Tegan is gone, leaving him alone with his hated and hateful father. The smoke from the extinguished candles lingers creepily in the air, as does the acrid smell of hardening wax. The clock on the wall quietly chimes two.

“Well, don’t you want to see your precious Harry?”

“Yes,” James admits.

“Even if that means having to trust me.”

James inclines his head in a gesture he knows that his father will be able to read.

Mac’s smile grows ever more reptilian.

“The great James Nightingale brought low by some boy,” his father sneers. “And that’s all his is. A pretty piece of arm candy…”

“Harry’s more of a man than you’ll ever be,” James snaps.

“Oh really? And I suppose you look like the big man, don’t you? Chasing after a boy twelve years younger than you. Snivelling at his heels, begging for any scrap of attention, jumping whenever he snaps his fingers… it’s like that Charlie boy all over again!”

“You know nothing about Harry or Charlie. You have no idea of my feelings. How could you? You’re not capable of loving someone!”

“And you are?”

James rolls his eyes and makes his way to the door. He and Mac have had this argument many times over the years and it always goes the same way. But this time he is strong enough to walk away.

Except, when he throws open the doors of The Hutch there is no street outside – no familiar sight of street lights and tinsel – only a great expanding darkness.

“ _You_ _need me,_ ” Mac snarls. “You need me to show you the way.”

James sighs and closes the door. He feels his shoulders slump at the revelation that Mac is indeed right.

“Fine,” James growls through gritted

Mac obviously takes a disgusting amount of pleasure in James’s acquiesce. He smugly gestures back to the door and this time when James opens it there is no more darkness. Instead, he is briefly blinded by the bright and fluorescent lights of a hospital corridor. He looks back at Mac, who simply shrugs and says,

“You’re the one who is so desperate to see Harry. Are you sure you haven’t changed your mind?”

“What have you done to him?” the desperation rises in James’s voice.

“It’s nothing to do with me,” Mac holds his hands up. “This is all you. You did this…”

“No! I would never hurt Harry.”

“Are you sure?”

He is, of course, he is. But something in Mac’s tone suggests that he knows something that James doesn’t. Too shocked by the thought to object, James lets Mac lead him down the hospital corridor. When they stop outside a room and peer at the occupant through slightly frosted glass, James already knows exactly what he is going to see.

There, hooked up to a terrifying number of wires and monitors, is Harry Thompson. Small. Pale. Alone.

Two nurses brush past Mac and James, gossiping quietly together.

“Any sign of his partner yet?” says the blonde to the brunet.

“None whatsoever,” his colleague replies. “Poor lamb, having to go through this all on his own. Has he said why his fella can’t be bothered to show up?”

“Apparently, work keeps him away. He’s some hot-shot lawyer, according to Harry. Bless him.”

“No,” James breathes. “I’d never leave Harry like this.”

Mac reaches out and clasps him around the neck and, for a terrifying moment, James thinks his father is going to strangle him. Instead, his mind is suddenly assaulted with dozens of images of Harry - waiting for him at the flat, alone at a work function while James ignores him in favour of a client, isolated from his family and friends, sitting on his own at a candlelit table...

Seeing Harry abandoned and neglected, and knowing that it’s all his fault, makes him sick to his stomach with guilt. He pulls himself free of Mac’s grasp and rests his head against the cool glass of the window that looks in on Harry’s room. How could he have abandoned Harry when he needs him like this? It’s not possible.

“You can’t deny your work is important to you,” Mac snidely points out. “And the only reason you wanted Harry was for the thrill of the chase. How do you know you won’t lose interest once you’ve finally caught him? You’re cold, James. You’re twisted and you’re empty. You don’t know how to love. All you know how to do is to take and use and manipulate. How do you know that you won’t destroy Harry, just like you have done everyone else who ever made the foolish mistake of trying to love you?”

“Because it’s Harry,” James gasps. “Because I can’t say no to him when he needs me. Because I want to be with him, to care for him, to love him…”

Mac’s face twists once more into that ghastly grin. “Liar!”

In a brief, horrifying flash James feels like an entire bucket of ice water has been tipped over his head. Once again he is there on that October evening, Harry’s shaking hands around his neck as James yells and shouts and throws Harry out of his home.  

He shuts his eyes against the awful memory and is at once back in the hospital, his head reeling from the sudden switch from past to future. At once, James understands. This is what will come to pass if he keeps shutting Harry out. This is what will happen if he continues to ignore the ache in his body that tells him he must protect Harry at all costs.

“I have to see him,” he tells Mac, before barging into the hospital room.

But once more, the door opens to nothingness.  

The black that surrounds him heavy, thick and oppressive, and James realises is alone in a dark and endless void. There is no sound, no smell, no sensations at all - he has found himself in a place that is utterly empty. But then a hand reaches up and brushes a cool touch down his spine, causing his whole body to shiver. James turns, already afraid of what he will find.

Mac is still there with him.

“I’m part of you, son,” he taunts. “You’ll never escape that. You can promise that you’ve changed, that you’re different, that you’ve grown. But deep down, you are still the same snivelling boy so desperate to impress his daddy.”

“I never wanted to impress you,” James spits back.

Mac places both his palms onto James’s shoulders and pushes down with a strength that should be impossible. His hands are as heavy as lead and just as cold. James is crippled under their weight. The world tilts as James feels himself grow smaller and smaller in size until Mac is towering over him. It’s like being a child all over again - utterly helpless and afraid - standing before his father and tormentor, praying that he’ll be able to withstand whatever blow is hurled in his direction.

As Mac’s body elongates, so do his features. His smile grows impossibly wide and his mouth filled with hundreds of sharp, pointed teeth. His eyes become deep caverns, where no light could possibly shine, and his hands transform into great claws, with talons so sharp they could rip flesh from bone.

James knew that he was dreaming the moment he saw Nathan but the image before him is more petrifying than anything James’s mind could conjure up even in his worst nightmares. He has always believed that his father was a monster but now Mac truly looks the part

_“You’re pathetic. You’re weak. You’re disgusting.”_

The monster hisses and snarls from what sounds like a hundred mouths. Insults fly at him from all directions and fill his ears and lungs until he feels like he is drowning in them.

Suddenly, the world tilts on its axis and he’s tumbling through the darkness, his fingers grasping at shadows as if he could hold on to them to break his fall.

“James!” a voice calls out in the distance.

“Harry!”

“I can’t find you!”

“I’m coming, Harry!" James gasps, unable to catch his breath as he falls. "Just hold on please!”

“Where are you, James?” Harry’s voice sounds tick with tears. “Why did you leave me?”

James’s foot catches on something. He pushes against it with all his might and finally finds a way to right himself so that he’s no longer falling, but running.

“Harry!” James shouts hoping that he’ll be able to follow Harry’s voice to wherever he is.

“Where are you?” The voice is closer now. “Why did you abandon me? I’m so lost!”

“I’m here! I’m coming! Wait for me, please!”

The need to see Harry again and know that he is safe compels James to run faster than he ever knew possible. His breathing is heavy and heart is racing, but that has more to do with the panic that rises in him everytime he hears Harry’s plaintive voice call for him, rather than the exertion of trying so hard to get to him.

James has to find him. He has to see him. Has to touch him. Hold him.

His whole body crashes into something solid. The shock of it momentarily knocks him into a daze. He reaches out to right himself, but there is no physical object in front of him, just an invisible wall. He pushes against it, but the dark nothingness in front of him remains solid and impenetrable.

“James?”

There. In the distance.

“Harry!”

His name on James’s lips is a whisper, but his sigh of relief turns to horror as he fully takes in the sight in front of him.

Harry is still dressed in his hospital gown. His face is smattered with an uneven layer of stubble over skin that has lost its golden glow. There are shadows all across him now; in the bruises around his lips and the hollows of his bones. His eyes, James realises with dread more acute than anything he has felt on this ghastly night, are clouded with the same death-like sheen as Nathan and Tegan’s.

 _No!_ his heart cries out. _Not Harry!_  

“James, please, I’m so alone,” Harry’s voice sounds quiet and far away.

“I’m coming. Just hold on!” James pushes against the invisible force holding him back with all his might. There is a slight, almost imperceptible shift. He probably only moves forward an inch but his small success helps him find his strength. Leaning his whole weight against the barrier he pushes and pushes and pushes…

“I gave up so much for you,” the spectral Harry says, “my family, my friends, my future. And you just tossed me aside. Now I have no one, and it’s all because of you!”

“I’m sorry! Harry, please just hold on for me!”

More movement from the barrier; the space between him and Harry closes.

“I love you!” he calls out to Harry “And you love me!”

Harry’s face is darkened with sadness; he doesn’t believe him. “Please, let’s just forget all of this and start over again. Ok? Just you and me?” James begs him.  

“I gave up everything!” Harry says again. “I destroyed my whole life for you! And it still wasn’t enough. How do I know it will be enough for you now?”

“I promise! I promise you, Harry.”

Each vow is made with another shove against the invisible wall that is keeping them apart. “You’re enough! We’re enough! I’ll never abandon you. I’ll never hurt you again. I’ll protect you. I’ll love you. I promise!”

“James, I can’t! I can’t go through this again.”

James has made it all the way across the void. Now he is just close enough to reach out and brush his fingers against the cheap polyester of Harry’s hospital gown.

“Just come back to me, Harry! Please!”

He so close.

But not close enough. He can’t quite catch Harry fully in his hand.

“Please, Harry!”

James reaches as far as he can, extending his arm so much that his bones and muscles and skin ache impossibly, but he manages to grab enough fabric that he can finally pull Harry toward him. He gives the gown one almighty tug, but rather than Harry falling into his arms, James is the one who is falling, plunging through the darkness with only the gown that was a second ago wrapped around his love empty in his hands.

He hits the ground with an almighty thud, the fabric wrapped around his limbs, constraining him like a straight-jacket. He scrambles free from it - only to find that it has changed from scratchy to soft. He’s wrapped in his cashmere blanket! The one that is kept on the sofa in his living room. The ground he has landed on is not another layer of endless darkness but his own floor. There is bright sunlight streaming through the curtains and warmth against he cheek where it is pressed against his favourite rug.  

“I’m home!” he breathes. “I’m alive!”

He pulls himself up onto the sofa. He must have fallen asleep here. Indeed, the bottle of whisky and his glass still sit on the coffee table; his phone is there too and he picks it up so that he can check the date and time.

_25th December, 09:00._

He’s been asleep all night. A whole night being tormented by the most vicious nightmare his mind could conjure. The shadows of Nathan, Tegan and Mac linger in his mind, the recollections making his brain throb like the aftermath of a particularly bad migraine.

And then there was Harry.

The memory of how he looked - hurt, alone and afraid - makes James’s heart clench.

At least it was all a dream, he reasons, and Harry isn’t actually lying abandoned in a hospital bed somewhere far away.

But then, how does he know that?

A wave of fear crashes over him. What if everything he saw wasn’t a fantasy? What if Harry is lying somewhere crying out for James? Suddenly terrified, he grabs his phone, pulls up Harry’s number, and presses the ‘call’ button.

His wait for an answer is as anxious and agonised as it was all those weeks ago in October.

“Hello?”

Harry’s voice at the end of the line is like a balm to his aching soul.  

“Harry! Please don’t hang up. Just listen to me,” he begs. “I’m so sorry. I know I hurt you. I know I abandoned you when you needed me the most. I was wrong and I am so, so sorry. I know you may never forgive me, but I just needed to say it. I needed you to know how sorry I am.”

“James…” Harry tries to interrupt, but now that James has started apologising he can’t stop.

“I need you. I need you in my arms, in my life, in my bed. I know I ruined us. I'm so sorry, about everything. I know I don't deserve it but if you can ever find it in yourself to forgive me..."

“James, listen to me,” Harry says, finally able to interrupt. “This is going to sound strange, but I need you do something for me, okay?  Look out of your living room window.”

“What?”

“Just do it. Please.”

James obeys. “What am I looking for?”

Outside, the fog from last night is lifting, though tendrils of it still wind around the jetties on the canal. And there, emerging as a beacon from the gloom is Harry - golden as always and glowing in the morning sun.            

James drops his phone, rushes over to the door, and throws it open. His feet slip on the wet wood as he runs outside, needing to get to Harry as soon as possible lest he disappears again. This time, Harry moves towards him too and all at once they are crashing into each other.  

Harry is warm and solid in his arms and James cannot contain himself. He sobs into Harry’s neck, so overwhelmed with joy at seeing him again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cries against Harry’s neck as he rubs his hands up and down James’s back whispering, “It’s okay,” back to him.

“Look at me James,” Harry says, pulling away just enough that they can look at each other. James can’t look into his eyes, scared of what he might find there, so Harry takes his chin in his fingers, and tilts his face upwards as if to bring him in for a kiss. When James finally finds the strength within him to lift his gaze, Harry’s eyes are clear, bright and as blue as the ocean.

“Harry,” his name is like a prayer on James’s lips.

“I forgive you.”

“Harry, you can’t. Not after the way I hurt you.”

“And how about the way I hurt you? Messing you around. Using you when I had no intention of leaving Ste. Yes, I was confused, but none of that was your fault.” He tugs James in closer, reaching up so that he can press their foreheads together. The gesture is strangely comforting. “But I know my own heart now. And it’s yours, James - my heart belongs to you entirely - if you’ll have it.”

For a brief, blissful moment, their lips brush together.

“How can you possibly forgive me?” James still can’t wrap his head around all that has happened. “I don’t understand.”

“You don't have to understand it,” Harry assures him. “You just have to believe me. You love me. I love you. That’s all that matters, right?”

At any other time, James would call it nonsense. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep (and the beginning of what James suspects is going to be a horrendous hangover). Maybe it’s the sheer relief of having Harry returned to him. Or maybe James has finally been touched with the spirit of Christmas. Regardless of the cause, Harry’s words settle within him; the truth of them undeniable after all that James has experienced in the last few hours.

“Believe me, James. I forgive you. You are kind and brave, and stronger than you will ever know… and… You’re not wearing any shoes…?”

James looks down at his bare feet. In his rush to get to Harry, he had completely forgotten to put anything on them. He hadn’t even noticed the cold and the wet, Harry’s presence filling him with all the warmth and light that is promised in all the holiday songs.

“Let’s get you inside,” Harry tells him.

“You’re taking care of me, are you?”

Harry smiles - a small, sweet little thing. “If you’ll let me.”

James holds his hand out for Harry to take. “I will,” he promises.  

Harry threads his fingers through James’s. For the first time since the festive decorations began cluttering the streets, James feels a sense of peace so profound he could almost believe in the magic of the season. James relishes the touch of Harry’s hand in his own, and as they make their way back to the flat the very last of the mist dissolves in the Christmas sunlight.  

           

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a number of things. I was prompted the dialogue line 'I thought you were dead' by @jarry-girl on tumblr. There is also an anon prompt on @jarryprompts asking for a Christmas Carol au, although the parameters of this fic are slightly different than what was requested. This fic was also written for the self-assigned prompt 'ghost - it's the most wonderful time of the year] for the creators choice day on round one of @happyjarryholidays. 
> 
> This fic would not have been possible without the incredible support of @bambiesque. I am so grateful for her care and cheerleading over the month and a half gestation of this fic. She carried out an incredible beta of this fic and any mistakes are entirely my own. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr: I'm @brigtingales <3


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